Friday, November 30, 2012

Redbook Magazine has declared a "No Judgment" day for moms. Which I think all moms can agree was really a long time coming.

We all know the cynical truth, universally acknowledged, that a woman in possession of a baby must be in want of advice. And with advice comes the implicit suggestion that you must really need it.

After ten years of mothering, and four children, I have learned that advice is not the problem. I can take it. I can nod and smile, raise my eyebrows and say, "Wow, that's amazing!" when you tell me the trick is getting up at 4 am to work out and shower before the children wake. In fact, good for you, because I completely understand that we all need to talk about the aspects of mothering that we have succeeded in. To me, advice is harmless.

It's the judgment that was harder to get over. Oh, okay, I'm still not completely over it. I still imagine all the terrible things people are thinking about my family after one of the kids has a tantrum in public. Or even worse, imagining the things other people are thinking after one of us parents has a meltdown while the windows are open.

But one of the significant changes that came over me while having and raising four children is the reduction in the number of things I do solely to impress people.

Getting four kids up, fed, dressed, and in the car by 7:30 is enough of a challenge.

It's all about priorities.

What still lingers, however—the vestige of the things many women do in an effort to make a good impression on others, to attract admiration, even—is an instinctive motivation that I think may never completely go away.

When I am stressed over the time and energy I am spending on something, I sometimes stop and try to identify my motivation, and often I realize it is an effort solely intended to prevent being judged by others.

For instance, matching my toddler's socks? Not worth getting myself stressed out and making all of us late and grouchy. I realized one cranky morning that the ONLY reason I do it at all, the only motivation for searching through baskets of laundry trying to find two miniature cotton pieces with the same color and pattern and size, is so that other people won't think we messed something up.

In my book, getting grouchy over socks IS messing up. Because it doesn't matter.

My mantra these days is PRIORITIES. Prioritizing my family's money and our time is important, most everyone has to do that. But I have learned (the hard way, as with most parenting) that I have to prioritize my energy.

Shopping, sock-matching, fancy hair-styling, pretty-cookie making? Way down the list. I can't enjoy them when they are at the expense of the higher priorities. So I am not going to do them. For now.

But when I am a grandmother --when I am not the one doing all the waking and feeding and cleaning and cooking and homework-helping—I hope to enjoy all that stuff with abandon. And I hope it impresses the hell outta my grandchildren.

My son is always asking what superpower we each would want, and I've never put my finger on it before. But "imperviousness" is what mothers need. A magical force field of imperviousness. Or a "JPF" suit—a Judgment Protection Factor. Moms of big families have a high JPF.

Then again, without the fear of judgment, would I wash my hair more than once a week? Would my children ever learn good grooming? Would I ever clean my house? (Which, by the way, is a clear illustration of how high my JPF factor has risen.)

Monday, July 16, 2012

Yesterday we bought the baby a new pool float, and at the same time picked up an inflatable tube for the bigger kids, since it was on clearance for just $3.99.

I only bought one, and for this I have three reasons. First, it was just an extra impulse buy, and I had no problem spending 4 bucks on junk that will no doubt have a hole in it by the end of the summer. But I'm not going to spend 12 bucks on three peices of junk.

Second, I don't want to have three big inflatable tubes to carry to the pool in addition to the babies floaty, 5 towels, and a bag of snacks and various surf barbie/diving dora/swim goggles.

Third, I believe siblings need to learn to share. They need to know how to take turns and understand that they don't get their very own EVERYTHING.

Today we got ready to go to the pool, and blew up the new floats. An argument broke out about the new tube float.

"I get it first because I helped blow it up!"

"No, I get it first because I already called it! I said it last night AND I said it this morning! MOM!"

"Wahhhh! That's not FAIR! I get it first because I helped blow it up!"

Already tired of settling all the "not fair" arguments this morning, I came up with a brilliant parenting technique. The don't NEED me to settle everything.

"We won't go to the pool until you two come up with an agreement about who goes first, and who goes sec---"

"I GO FIRST!"

"NO I'M GOING FIRST!"

I am also tired of hearing it, so I kicked them out. "Go settle it in the backyard. Outside! And negotiate! Maybe whoever goes second gets extra---"

"I GO FIRST!"

"THAT'S NOT FAIR! WAHHHH!"

I closed the door and went back to packing the poolbag. Feeling proud of how I was making them come to their own solution. They'll probably argue about it until one of them figures out a way to get a longer turn in exchange for going second. It'll probably be the older one.

Then out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of purple pass by the living room window. I looked up. Next My son ran after the purple flash, spraying the hose, and shouting.

"WHO'S GOING FIRST?! WHO'S GOING FIRST?!"

"WAAAAHHHHHHH! MOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!"

So in the end we had a fifteen minute argument about who would go first and who would get extra time.

Thursday, July 05, 2012

I don't believe in omens. But the migraine I had this morning might make me a believer.

We love the fourth of July, and we especially love it in San Diego. We drive to Coronado and spend the day at the beach, and then watch the Big Bay Boom fireworks show from the helicopter hangars along the seawall on San Diego Bay. Year after year, it's a can't-miss fantastic holiday.

This year we brought a little grill and chicken wings and smores to tailgate with afterward, so we wouldn't have to sit in two hours of traffic to get off the island.

Thanks to the headache today, we got a pretty late start. And the beach was pretty cold. But the kids played anyway.

Now that I think about it, if the migraine hadn't been an omen, what happened next might've been.

My 6-year-old was crawling along the surf, digging on her hands and knees. I stood holding the baby while watching dolphins jumping just offshore. A very large lady stood several yards in front of me taking pictures of the dolphins with her cell phone. As a very cold wave washed toward her feet, she began to back up. Very quickly. I saw she was making a beeline for my daughter. I could see what was going to happen, but there was no way I could stop it.

The very, very large lady tripped over my Mary, sat down hard right on her, squashing her flat, then fell backwards spread-eagle on the sand with a big thud.

The woman's phone went flying onto wet sand, and I picked it up quickly to save it, as the woman was not making any move to get up. My daughter scrambled out from under the woman's legs, and ran to hide behind me, wailing.

It was a mess. They both ended up okay. I wrapped Mary in a blanket and made her sit down to calm herself.

I did not see that she sat right on my husband's key fob, sunglasses, and cell phone. Didn't know it, in fact, until she got up again and we saw the items lying in a puddle of water in the folding chair.

Glasses and key fob spared. Phone is now a paperweight.

I'd forgotten a lighter to light the grill for our hotdogs, but we finally borrowed some matches from some kind folks. A lot of matches, actually, as it was cold and windy.

Made it over to the seawall and settled in to watch fireworks. We were at the perfect point to see three barges surrounding us, all set to fire simultaneous shows. It began with a crazy huge one-minute inferno. Then there was nothing. All the families along the seawall waited. We speculated. Jamie's grill went out and his wings got cold, so he put more coals on.

Then an MP drove by with a loudspeaker, saying that there were no more fireworks, it was time to clear the area. Began flashing his lights.

I didn't know if the little grill was kosher on base, so I told Jamie, "I'm gonna make these smores right now before the popo shuts us down."

So Jamie held a rack of half-cooked chicken wings in his hands while I made smores for everyone.

Jamie sat in his little folding chair with the chicken in his hands and the fire dying to coals and the MP told him we needed to pack up and get going . Jamie pointed out there was two hours of traffic jam to sit in before getting off the island. The MP said he understood, and just to leave when we could. Then left.

Jamie leaned to me, "Popo not shuttin' US down."

We ate our wings, then began to pack up the car. We'd been listening to the radio, like most of the cars tailgating.

But we should have heeded the omens.

Battery was dead.

One other family was left, fishing further down the seawall, and they were happy to give us a jump.

Jamie accidentally let the clamps touch and sparks flew. The helpful stranger said, "Wow, that's a better show than we had tonight."

We finally got loaded and left, only to make a u-turn ten minutes later to search for my phone in the dark.

On the way home, the main road to our neighborhood was closed by police, and we had to take a dirt road detour.

As I put the kids to bed, my son asked why we took the "bumpy road," which woke everyone up. I said there was a roadblock. Of course. He rolled his eyes and said this was the worst Fourth of July ever.

My daughter pipes up, "No, this was the best Fourth of July ever!"

I couldn't stop myself.

"What? What was the best part? When the fat lady fell on you?"

And then I laughed myself to tears. And the kids all laughed in bed.

Then I kissed Mary goodnight, and as she closed her eyes, she told me, "The best part was the smores."

Monday, April 16, 2012

I often make comments to other wise and experienced mothers about how parenting is not how the parenting magazines depict it. You can literally drive yourself crazy feeling like a failure if you try to fill your days with crafts made from recycled trash, beautiful snacks made to look like small animals, and long family walks discussing self-esteem and gratitude.

And sometimes pragmatism has to over-rule the official word from the American Academy of Pediatrics on things like co-sleeping, or how old a child has to be before you can give them cough syrup, and how a child under two should never look at a TV screen.

I have four children and it's been many years since I was a new mother looking at a parenting magazines in the grocery-store checkout aisle. Because these days I am much too busy checking out magazine covers like this one:

And as I scan such covers, my mouth forms a tight little line, and sometimes my left eyebrow might go up a notch. Because I often have my six-year-old daughter with me. Who reads EVERYTHING. My nine-year-old son might be with me sometimes, but he has no interest in looking at images on ladies' magazine covers. (Yet.) But I have seen his mouth drop open and an embarrassed look come over him when faced with a 4-inch-tall SEX headline at his eye-level.

My daughter, however, is entranced by glamorous and fashionable role models. I was especially irked to see her excitement at finding Disney star Selena Gomez on the Cosmo cover, and tried to distract her before she read the words surrounding the teen star.

Yesterday at the commissary, my husband and I were in the checkout line for a long time with our two grocery carts and four kids. Leaving plenty of time for looking at glossy covers. My daughter quickly said, "Mommy, someone needs to cover up these inappropriate words!" Smiling with mirth, she puts her hands over some of the giant, bold-font "SEX" headlines.

I give my husband a look. We read the rest of that cover. And I can't help myself, I say loudly to him, "I would love to take that magazine over to the manager, along with our kids, and ask HER to answer their questions about it."

But I didn't. I am glad that Mary's response was one of healthy and innocent self-esteem. But as she pays more attention to the rest of the words that grace Cosmo's cover every month, I worry how that self-esteem and innocence will erode.

Tell me again why it's better for girls to worry about being good at sex when they grow up than being good at housekeeping?

Monday, March 05, 2012

Eleven years ago, our three-year-old Eureka vacuum quit, and like most vacuums, it was not designed to be repaired. I decided to invest in an Oreck XL upright. The one in all the magazine ads, with the handheld attachment vac that can suck up a bowling ball. That one. I bought a refurbished floor model with a full warranty.

It was perfect. We recommended it to everyone we knew. So lightweight, I carry it up and downstairs with one hand. It's great on both thick carpets and hard floors. The only problems I ever encountered were to pull a string or ribbon off the beater bar, and to replace the belt every couple of years. Which cost a couple bucks at the Oreck store, and once the clerk gave me a bag of belts for free.

Last year my mother bought an Oreck XL, and my Dad questioned the higher price.

Mom said, "In the ten years that Kristi's had her Oreck, we've gone through three vacuums."

"I'm sold," replied Dad.

Last week, the power cord frayed, and it quit. From my kids' rough handling, the cord had split, and it just got yanked too far. My husband easily removed the entire cord from the handle and saw it would be easy to insert a new one.

The biggest problem was that all the Oreck stores have closed. There are some parts you can order online, but not a cord. Fortunately, he found a local repair shop that had the part.

Burdick's Sewing and Vacuum in Chula Vista was very helpful, and though they don't usually sell that part but do the repair themselves, they agreed to sell it to my husband, with a military discount. They even attached the proper plug-thing with wires (not the technical term) to the end for us.

So for under thirty bucks, our eleven -year-old vacuum is good as new. I still love it, I like having a HEPA bag to remove and throw away with no mess. It's the lightest full-power vacuum. The thing is, the sleek new Oreck models in the store were quite attractive . . . maybe one day when one of our kids gets their own place, we can pass down our old Oreck and then we'll get to buy a pretty new one!

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The news this week that all troops will be leaving Iraq is a happy headline. The military community hopes Obama is right, and that Iraq can continue the hard-won progress for which so many Americans gave life and limb. And there are so many soldiers who've been deployed there for too long, there will happy families this Christmas.

But our military families understand this does not mean war and deployments are now behind us. We are an all-volunteer force, and so unless your contract is up, there will always be detachments and deployments, and duty to serve.

While this may seem like the end of the war for many Americans, that’s just not so for military families. We know service members and their families will keep serving, sacrificing, and dealing with deployments to dangerous places. Many service members—almost 100,000—are still fighting in Afghanistan. Many are away from home in other operations. Others are working long hours at their home stations in support of those in harm’s way. Those returning may soon be leaving for other assignments.

As a military wife of 14 years, who's weathered 7 deployments and homecomings, I am thrilled to think of all the joyous homecomings there will be this fall. I love to watch them on TV and on Youtube with a box of kleenex.

I also know the stress couples will feel as they try to return to normal daily life together.

It's a common joke among my Navy wife friends that at some point after a homecoming, about 3 weeks for me, that you think to yourself "Doesn't he have a boat to go to already!?"

And that thought is usually followed by guilt, because you know how much you longed for him while he was gone. How desperately you wanted him home every day.

But sharing and compromise is not easy to jump back into when you've been running a household, raising kids, living your life singly for many months on end. At first you're happy to compromise on what movie to watch, you don't care that he never does his dishes, it feels good to see him safely on the sofa watching NASCAR all weekend long, and it's not a big deal keeping the kids up late to have dinner with Dad when he comes home from work at 7 pm.

But after a couple weeks, it's irritating that his dirty clothes are everywhere, he still hasn't unpacked two seabags, and every time you try to coordinate your plans with him he's noncommittal. Then suddeny he's arguing with you over finances and how to discipline the children, and that's when you think, "Don't you have a boat to go to!?"

Most of us do it. There can be some big fights between couples about three weeks after a homecoming. Because it is hard for two independent adults who have gotten used to making independent decisions to compromise. Not about big things, but about little things, like what time to eat dinner, and where to toss your dirty socks. It wears you down and makes you cranky.

You just gotta figure it out. For us, I just have to accept that he has a right to change some of our routines, he is the Dad and my partner, and it's his house, too. He has to acknowledge that I've been running things my way for a reason, and I know what I'm doing. Messing with the routine has consequences.

Of course the answer is compromise and patience. The troops coming home this fall will probably be counseled on "transitioning" back to family life. In the initial Homecoming Honeymoon, compromise and patience will come pretty easily. But when the honeymoon's over, they'll have to take a deep breath and work at it.

I just hope they know it's normal. It gets better. It helps if you get off the couch and wash some dishes at halftime.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

We have just moved for the 7th time in our married life. Only this time it was not cross country, it was just across the neighborhood. From a little condo that we bought years ago, when we had only one baby and were excited to have a brand-new home where we could choose all our finishes and so didn't care that it was short on living space. To a much larger home up the hill, where there is room for everyone to spread out and have their own projects going on, without sitting on each other and going deaf from the decibel level.

It's been stressful and chaotic, as all moves are, but more so because this time the Navy wasn't packing us, so we had to do it ourselves. And we had a hard time getting on the same page, so to speak. It became clearer than ever before that we don't work well together. I am not patient with him and he doesn't take suggestions from me. I won't elaborate, but I am ashamed, deeply ashamed, to confess that my 5-year-old now knows all the swear words.

I began taking carloads of stuff over to the new house a week before the big moving day, and enlisted my 8-year-old to help. He was painfully reluctant. Whiny. Begged and moaned to be released from unloading. The second day of carloads, he cried on the way over to the new house, and I was beginning to think it wasn't about the work. It was about leaving his home, his room, his street of friends.

As we pulled up to our house, we found four boys on bikes and scooters on our lawn. They didn't move when we parked inthe driveway, so I announced it looked like we'd be meeting some neighbors. My son was already bent over in the passenger seat, wiping his face to erase his tears. We got out and he let me do the talking at first while we unloaded. I found out their names and ages, they all went to my son's school and were close in age. All very friendly. One said he knew my son from playing soccer at recess. Next thing I knew my son had disappeared with them into the garage, showing them his nerf guns.

Soon we had to close up and head back to the condo. My son asked if on the next run we could bring over his scooter.

I said sure.

And then he said he thought he was going to like the new house. I looked over at him, and he was smiling. Not a tear about moving since.

And the pack of boys on our street is indeed a wonder to behold. They drag out our ramp on a Saturday morning and circle around jumping it in turns, loud choruses of CARRRR! shouted down the street if a car turns down our way.

Tuesday, February 08, 2011

My husbands latest smartphone came with a download of the movie Avatar to show off it's screen quality and HD capabilities. When I upgrade my phone in a few weeks, the 4G handset I plan to get will have Inception preloaded. The phone is billed as having fast streaming for YouTube, Slacker Radio, etc. etc. Including a new TV app from the carrier with HD streaming from ABC, FOXNews, and other channels. The one that finally excited me? PBS Kids.

While most moms I meet at Kindergarten pickup, birthday parties, and church functions all have smartphones, cell phone carriers still build and market these things, it seems, to young men who love catching web videos before they make Tosh.0 and also feel the need to have blockbuster CG HD action movies in their pocket at all times.

Smartphones used to be marketed for "productivity," so working folks could stay connected to email, news headlines, calendars, and business contacts. Now it seems all about entertainment and social media.

But what would I love in a phone? Should it matter? Well, I do know that I am part of the largest target demographic for most TV advertisers, because women like me spend most of the shopping dollars in our household. They question focus groups of us for our preferences in minivans and SUVs. They definitely stage new homes with throw pillows and vanilla candles and spacious closets to draw home-buying women in.So how about packaging and marketing a phone that dazzles us?

Some suggestions that would make me a $ucker:

1. Instead of grown-up blockbusters that I will never spend 2 hours watching on a 3.5 inch screen, preload a kid blockbuster like Toy Story 3. So my 3- and 5-year old can watch while we sit through an older sibling's taekwondo/ballet/basketball practice.

2. Showcase a mom-customizable calendar with profile sounds and colors for each kids' events and schedule.

3. I'll admit I am looking forward to my 4G phone for fast access to news feeds, because I'm a news junkie and I can only read in brief nuggets of time anyway. But dangle some more tempting streaming apps, like FoodNetwork, HGTV, Nick Jr., and oh! Oh! Oprah's OWN TV channel! SOLD!

4. This one is a no-brainer. Give it extra headphone jacks. I know it would be ridiculous to have enough for my whole crew, but it can't be hard to add a second hole for another listener's headphones.

5. Lie-detector app. I've seen rate-your-kiss apps, and other stupid useless functions. Also some handy ones, like one that can take your temperature (an obvious one to put on a momphone). But demonstrate a lie-detector app and moms will flock. "You say you finished your homework in school? Here, say it into my phone." "Oh, none of you are responsible for this orange juice on the floor? Then tell it to the phone." The TV commercials alone would have kids sweating with anxiety, and moms will love it. It'd go facebook viral faster than that Darth Vader kid.

6. Why hasn't anyone maximized the teaching potential of smartphones? Show off flashcard apps, letter tracing for preschoolers, homework research, spelling quizzes, etc. Yes, by the time kids would want SAT practice, they'll have their own smartphone, but drills for gradeschool kids would draw in ALL moms, not just the Your-Baby-Can-Read crowd.

I am looking forward to getting my new Android phone in a few weeks, and I know I can find and add most everything on this list (excepting the Lie-Detector). I'm especially looking forward to that barcode scanner shopping app. But why don't carriers market a phone this way? Moms have big wallets, and there must be many who don't yet have smartphones. Who are not interested in Avatar or YouTube.